A little girl in torn overalls,
pretzel-legged in front of the bellowing  cabinet.

She held on to the Southern drawl
that crescendoed and hushed,
always parallel with the crests and troughs
of the Sunday evening story
from the wire grated speakerbox,
like a trapeze swing, or
as though it were a safety rope
tied around her waist
so that, if need be,
she might tug twice or three times,
depending on her urgency,
and get pulled back to her
regular spot on the floor
to find the rope knotted
and her arm bruised from
trying to remove herself from
the inextricable silence
of this humming land
and its crashing


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